


Tick, Tock and Tock, Tick

by Harebourg



Category: Wakfu
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:49:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5250485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harebourg/pseuds/Harebourg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place in the Dofus era transation to Wakfu.</p><p>Sylargh misses the Count who’s isolated himself up in his tower. He tries to build an exact copy of one of Harebourg’s sinistros when he’s not messing with Missiz Freezz or the others, but they were never the same as the Count’s. In a fit of rage, he tosses his most recent attempt of the replication and stuffs himself in his jacket that was built to withstand Frigost’s increasingly cold temperatures. If only he had looked up in that particular moment, he would’ve seen the machinary roll off and hit the shoe of Harebourg who has just entered the workshop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tick, Tock and Tock, Tick

Sylargh tightly clenches the small, ticking machinery in his hands in frustration. “Why is it never right?!” he mutters loudly; it sounded a lot more louder when he screamed the phrase in his thoughts previously. The makeshift sinistro’s internal gears squeak against eachother at the unyielding pressure at its sides. He stops his hold at the sound and looks down to his offline imitation sinistro. This was his fourth time in an attempt to replicate one of Count Harebourg’s sinistros and soon to be the fourth mechanical owl to be scrapped. 

They were never ‘right’– his own owls would never feel the same as his boss’– it was always too heavy, the sounds were tock, tick instead of tick, tock, not a high enough flap rate– arghh!

The Imp bites back his tears that become harder to contain after each attempt, but it doesn’t stop his hands from raising with the functioning-but-not-perfect imitation sinistro. He takes a deep breath, the inhale stuttering from his buildup of the feeling of self dread. He winces at the pain hitting his chest and begins to shiver at the increasingly overwhelming emotions.

“AhhhHHHRRGG!!” he throws down the metal owl to the wooden floor of his workshop, unintentionally letting his tears overflow. He doesn’t look up to see where his owl went– he did however find some comfort in the sound of the pieces breaking apart through his hood that flopped over and laid just over the tip of his hat, even if the sound ended abruptly earlier then he would expect. He huffs out the air that staled in his lungs and pulls his hood even further over his head, letting out the sounds of sorrow that he’s hasn’t done once after he was born, or so from what he can remember. The mechanic lowers himself onto the floor, thigh touching the ground first, his whines escalating to watery cries. He holds up his knees and sinks his head into them, thinking of nothing but the Count that he’s kept disappointing, even if he was never here to see it in the first place.

—

'Ah, so that’s what Hazieff was referring to…’ Harebourg thought to himself. He’s only just arrived to Sylargh’s workshop; after inviting himself inside, he’s greeted with flying metal parts of, apparently, a sinistro. He watches as his small engineer collapses onto the floor and bury his face into his knees, sobbing. It was a common complaint he would get that Sylargh was frequently overly emotional, particularly wrathful, but he’s never seen it for himself in play before, until now. Harebourg slowly closes the door behind him, not letting a sound emit to potentially cause more distress to the imp. Looking down to his feet, the discarded sinistro lies lopsided on his shoe, it’s glass eyes slightly cracked from the blunt force and wings bent in a inefficient and awkward angle. The trail of smaller bits that bursted from the machine led back to the area of where the first of the damages was done: in front of Sylargh. 

He bends over to pick up the mistreated trinket, careful not to let any of the smaller pieces that still remained inside roll out. 'Its not like Sylargh to carelessly toss his toys…’ he recalls. Not sparing much thought for the trinket, he looks back to Sylargh, still immersed in his own distraught. Wrapping his fingers around the damaged sinistro, he strides over to Sylargh’s side, still keeping the sounds as soft as possible under Sylargh’s weeps. 

—

Sylargh eventually slows down to hiccups and sniffles. He raises his head upwards, pulling his hood back slightly to fall off on its own, to look at the floor in front of him. He feels the tears building up again at the memory of being introduced to his second workshop, migrating from his carrier, for the first time– he was so overjoyed at his new lab that he clinged onto Harebourg’s pants in a death hold and only let go when they both toppled over to the floor. He wipes away the stray tears, the stinging feeling somewhat nullified. 

He scans over to his left side where his owl was tossed to. He follows the trail of battered pieces of metal, but doesn’t find his sinistro at the end. Confused, he leans over to his right and sways himself over to stand back up, but finds his face cushioned by an unfamiliar cloth. Spooked by the foreign object, the imp flinches away and lands on his other side to face whatever it was he just felt. His eyes widen at the sight of the familiar hat and glowing mono spectacle. 

“I don’t remember you being this skittish either, Sylargh.” Harebourg comments, though understanding that it has been indeed awhile since he’s stepped off that tower of his to see his workers. He refrains from letting out a snicker at the snot-faced imp that he’s grown fond of. “I do remember that you rarely carry tissue with you,” he prods at the engineer. Harebourg grudgingly pushes back the thought that he was usually the one to supply hand napkins for the frequently sick mechanic– a habit that he’s only remembered just now. 

Sylargh lunges forwards, propping himself up on his hands, and scoots up even closer to the Xelor sitting with his legs crossed over. “Boss!” he eagerly exclaims before pressing his face onto Harebourg’s knee. 

Feeling minor discomfort at the snot Sylargh was probably wiping on himself, he lays a hand on the imp’s hat to gently push him off. Not discouraged by the notion at all, Sylargh scoots in closer to hug Harebourg’s knee, wary not to press his face in again. He sniffles and wipes away the remains of his period of lament with his shirt collar before looking back up to Harebourg in excitement.

“Now that you’re in a more rational state–” Harebourg raises his other occupied hand holding the abused sinistro for the mechanic to see “– care to explain this?” 

Sylargh whines at the sight. He didn’t think that he threw it hard enough to crack the camera of the sinistro. “I… was trying to copy one of your birds for myself…” he answers in a low voice, recollecting back when Harebourg wasn’t there to see his past failures– but now he was really here to see it.

Harebourg rotates the machinery around, further examining it. “What was wrong with it that made you throw it out like that?”

Sylargh pats down the cloth of Harebourg’s pants and dejectedly answers: “It wasn’t like how you made them– I only got to hold one of yours once, but I can remember the details on it.” He squeezes his hands together, hoping that Harebourg would understand. 

Harebourg hums to himself, reminding and noting to himself that the engineer was needlessly pushing his still child-like emotional thresholds. The Xelor leans forwards and holds out his free hand into the air, flexing his fingers in preparation for a solution to the Imp’s need for a memento from himself. Sylargh moves backwards slightly, unsure what the Count was about to do. Cracking his fingers with his thumb, Harebourg conjures up his out-of-practice sinistro summoning. Even when he fought adventurers during his isolation period, he still didn’t use these particular machinery to aid him. As energy crackles from underneath his bandages, Sylargh moves closer to the side of Harebourg, leaning into his ribs now. The ball of energy bursts into a light hued purple smoke and as the it dissipates, an unbalanced sinistro that struggles to sync its wings to flap together emerges, obviously feeling the time difference from its last flight.

Harebourg switches the discarded sinistro to his right hand and holds his left hand under the active bird, allowing it to rest in his palm. He holds out both of the sinistros for Sylargh to see, pressing his thumb on the nose of the real Xelor-crafted sinistro to open up the face and expose the gears inside. He briefly compares the interiors of the birds and inquires the engineer: “Are you sure it wasn’t just like mine?” Harebourg lowers his sinistro for Sylargh to hold.

Sylargh cups the sinistro he’s been given with both hands, cherishing it as if it was a gift (though knowing he’s going to need to give it back to its owner). He looks back and fourth from Harebourg’s and his own sinistro. The interior components were incredibly similar on both, indistinguishable to a normal person that doesn’t do this line of work for a living. The imp lightly tosses the bird in his hands upwards, not using too much force for it to lift off of his palms. Their weights were identical also, from what Sylargh can remember from his own variant.

“You did an amazing replica, not that I wouldn’t believe that you couldn’t– now if only you didn’t intend to remove it from existence.” 

Sylargh blushes at both the complement and shame he had for venting on his creation, but he reminds himself that there was one more thing to evaluate. “Wait… listen to them, boss.” Sylargh holds up his given sinistro and slowly spins the gears inside with his thumb. The sinistro, still online, shivers at the involuntary motion, but does its best to still itself. The gears click together, creating the sound of a clock’s signature 'tick, tock’. Harebourg sinks away at the sound, being reminded of his own chants of the ticking back on the top of his tower when he could barely produce a coherent thought. “Ah– boss? Are you okay?” Sylargh looks at the shrinking Xelor in worry. 

Harebourg begins to shiver lightly, but shakes his head to snap out of the pending return to insanity. “It’s… Nothing to be concerned about. About the gears, Sylargh?” Harebourg moves himself back in place, accidentally bumping into Sylargh, being unable to see the distance with his hat in the way. 

Sylargh takes the touch as permission to rest his elbows on Harebourg’s leg; he does so and reaches over to his own sinistro to demonstrate what he wanted the Count to hear. With an index finger, he rotates the main gear of the mechanism that produces sound. 'Tock, tick’ the gears distinctively make, ignoring the off pitching caused by missing pieces. “See? The sounds aren’t the same.” Sylargh hangs his head low and lays it on the Xelor’s pants, face free of mucus now.

“Hm, I quite like the sound of yours, actually. I prefer it over my own.” Sylargh instantly rears his head back up, needing to process what Harebourg said again. “May I use your gear layout for my new line of sinistros?” Harebourg is going to need to replace his old ones anyway if he were to ever considered the option of using them again with the ticking sounds they naturally make.

Sylargh stares at Harebourg wide eyed, absolutely appalled. He raises to his knees and pushes against Harebourg’s leg, almost dropping the underling owl in between the Xelor’s legs, eagerly yelping: “I’ll make them for you!” 

Harebourg uses his free left hand to create a barrier to prevent Sylargh from getting any closer to his face. He could only tolerate brief touches– ones that only Sylargh could get away with–, but was still extremely prone to have extreme discomfort at people being too close to him in general. Sylargh takes the hint and backs down, hands still gripped on Harebourg, and (as patiently as he could) waits for his boss’ response. “As much as I would appreciate it, only a Xelor disciple could implement magic into the owls; I would need to build them myself.”

Sylargh’s grin falters at the answer, but he still has the appreciation of the Count in for himself. “Okay– I can give you my other prototypes then– I didn’t change the insides much.” Sylargh pushes himself off the Count, finally creating a personal space for himself and rests the genuine sinistro on his lap.

Harebourg stretches a leg out and lifts himself off the floor; Sylargh follows the same and dusts off his overalls as he stands. “That won’t be necessary, but I am curious about what you have been developing during my… Absence.” The Count peels off the extra bits of metal skin from the custom sinistro, placing them on Sylargh’s table, and only keeps the insides, which he stuffs in his pocket. “I also have plans for our next course of action that I would like to discuss with you.”

Turning to face Sylargh again, Harebourg sees the Imp visibly bounce in place in eagerness, his hood sometimes bouncing high enough to cloak itself over his head again. The bouncing stops as the mechanic remembers that he needs to return the base sinistro. “Ah.., here’s your thingy back,” he holds the mechanic up to Harebourg. 

Harebourg stares at his owl for a moment, deciding and sealing its fate. He holds out his hand for Sylargh to transition it over. Harebourg closes the face of the sinistro, tucking in its wings to fully turn it offline, and casually places it onto Sylargh’s desk. “I want you to keep it. It could prove useful if you ever need a template of a sinistro to work with.” The strength of Sylargh’s smile returns tenfolds as if he was just gifted the world. He pounces forwards to repeat the death hug he’s done once before, occasionally squeaking in joy. Harebourg takes the treatment with a grain of salt, using the table to support him from behind to not let history repeat itself.

Sylargh eases off and tugs the fabric with him, prompting Harebourg to follow with it. “I want to show you my Mecha cases!” Harebourg lets out a sigh and allows Sylargh to relentlessly drag him across the workshop to present him his various collection of gadgets and robots.


End file.
